Consequences: A Witcher Short
by WabbitTwaks
Summary: A friend is in trouble and it's up to Geralt to get him out of it.
1. Prologue: A Meeting at the Inn

**A/n**: This isn't my first attempt at writing, but it is the first time anyone other than myself has read what I wrote. (Not counting my Muse who had to approve this before posting) I make absolutely NO claim to any part of The Witcher world. That world is the creation of the wonderful author, Andrzej Sapkowski.

Being a fan of the video game and the books, I found myself wanting more of Geralt's adventures. My Muse said the same and promptly pushed me to write something. After a few false starts, I was finally able to form an idea in my head. That idea was put into the story to follow.

For any not already familiar with The Witcher, Geralt, Dandelion or the rest, I envy the world waiting for your discovery in the works by Mr. Sapkowski. The originals are in polish, but the first two books have been translated to English. They are really great reads and I HIGHLY recommend them.

To those who are familiar, I hope you find my rendition of the characters to your liking.

In either case, I hope you enjoy!

**Prologue**

A Meeting at the Inn

The young gentleman strolled into the tavern, stopping just inside so his eyes could adjust to the gloom. While he waited those few seconds, he put the finishing touches on the perfection of his colorful clothing. He had an image to maintain and it wouldn't do for ladies to see him disheveled. Even with the color, his clothing was very tasteful. He tugged and straightened his cuff ruffles and neck scarf. Reaching up, he tilted his small hat, so it sat just right on his brown locks. Then, while brushing some unseen lint off the front of his coat, he glanced around the common room. Finally, Dandelion spotted his quarry.

Walking boldly up to the table, he dropped onto the stool opposite a brooding, white haired man dressed in dark leather. Signaling to the barmaid, he leaned casually against the nearby wall and grinned at the fellow.

The man's shockingly light eyes narrowed at Dandelion. Those eyes were gold flecked, with pupils that seemed cat-like but otherworldly. "You're later than expected," he remarked.

Dandelion's grin broadened. "It wasn't my fault, really," he explained. "The young lady just has no sense of responsibility."

"I see." He didn't sound very convinced.

"I told her I had a meeting to get to but she would have none of it."

"I am sure," the man paused and shook his head slightly, a wry smirk on his face. "That you tried very hard to convince her too."

Dandelion's grin dropped to be replaced with mock indignation. "Geralt, that hurts." Turning to the barmaid who had just reached their table, his face brightened. "A glass of Toussaint Red, my Sweet, and," he glanced at Geralt's nearly empty glass, "another of whatever my friend is drinking."

Geralt lifted his glass in a small toast to his partner, "Thank you. Your _detained_ arrival is forgiven." He put some small emphasis on detained.

"Geralt, my friend," Dandelion chuckled. "You are just too easily bought."

"Let us hope you are one of the few to ever learn of that."

Geralt shifted a bit to get comfortable, his leathers creaking quietly.

Dandelion knew that Geralt's look, the cat like eyes, the long white hair, the lean and muscular body, stemmed from what he was. Geralt was a witcher, a monster slayer. Potions, spells and intense training made a witcher capable of killing the many beasts that prowled in and out of any number of cities and towns. Witchers were seldom, if ever, welcomed but people and places paid good money for the services Geralt and his like provided. If monsters threatened your town or loved ones, a witcher was who you turned to and you had better be ready to pay. Payment was not always in the form of coin, however, but it was preferred.

Dandelion eyed the hallmark of a witcher, two sword hilts rising at angles above each of Geralt's shoulders. "You know, of all the years I have known you, I don't believe I have ever seen you without those."

"You never will, either," Geralt replied.

"Oh?" he asked, his curiosity peaked. "Why not?"

"You aren't my type," he said with a slight smile on his face.

Dandelion's laugh carried across the common room.

As they spent the rest of the evening drinking and talking, their camaraderie was apparent to any who observed them.


	2. Chapter 1: A Crime of Passion?

**A/n**: Again, I hold NO claim to The Witcher or the world and characters created by Andrzej Sapkowski. They are all his.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

A Crime of Passion?

Geralt cracked his eyelids just enough to see. Without moving he took in his surroundings using all of his heightened senses. The clean bed linen was slightly rough on his bare skin. The only sound, besides his own, was the quiet breathing of the woman next to him as she slept, oblivious to the world. The early summer sun had already begun warming the air in the room. He noted dawn had broken approximately an hour ago, sunlight streaming through the small opening in the curtains. The beam shone on the wall to his right where, within easy reach, his Witcher swords leaned. Light was reflected all around by those steel and silver pommels. The room smelled of clean linen, leather, dried sweat, and honeysuckle.

Satisfied he was alone, except for the girl, and in no immediate danger, the witcher tossed aside the covers and rose.

He moved to the middle of the open floor and stopped. Standing straight and tall, Geralt closed his eyes, breathing slow and deep, his muscular body relaxed. After several seconds, he raised his arms above his head, palms together. Opening his eyes, he brought his arms down slowly, until they were straight out to either side, palms up. He dropped suddenly to a crouch. Lunging forward, he thrust his arms in front him, palms facing forward. Spinning he continued his morning exercise.

In silence, extremely fast and with a deadly grace, he flowed through the moves of this seeming dance. A dance meant to limber, balance and center the witcher. A dance the witcher's life depended upon. The Witcher's Dance of Death.

--==++#++==--

The girl woke and saw Geralt at the window looking out. He was already dressed, his swords crossing in the middle of his back. Moving quietly as possible so as not to disturb him, she slid out of the covers, and picked up her clothing but didn't dress. She eyed the small pouch on the bed stand for only a second before picking it up and slipping through the door, closing it silently behind her.

The witcher had heard every movement she made, but ignored her. She had taken her payment and left. It was the expected ending to their night together. Besides, he was more interested in the soldiers stationed outside the inn's front door below him, to care.

The inn door opened and out came two more soldiers with a familiar looking man held between them. His back was to the inn as they led him to one of their horses. Apparently, they hadn't even let him dress since he was still in his nightclothes. That alone would spark up Dandelion's ire. He wondered just what the charges were this time. It certainly wasn't the first time Dandelion had found himself in the hands of soldiers for one indiscretion or another. Geralt sighed, knowing he wouldn't be able to stay out of it. He would have to see if he could help get him out of trouble.

As he started to turn away from the window, he stopped. They had turned Dandelion enough for Geralt to see the fronts of his nightclothes were covered in blood. This definitely wasn't one of Dandelion's typical problems. Geralt suppressed the urge to run down and see just what had happened but he knew nothing could be gained by that right now. The soldiers were already on edge and the appearance of a witcher asking questions would only complicate things. He had no doubt he could take on the whole group, but what would that accomplish besides putting them both on the run from the local authorities? Better to let them take Dandelion for now without a fuss. He would be put safely behind bars where Geralt could speak with him later.

He walked calmly towards his door, determined to find out exactly what had happened to his friend. Someone had sent for the authorities and that person had information Geralt wanted.

--==++#++==--

The common room looked normal for an inn at this time of the morning. The typical morning patrons were scattered about. Late night drunks were just waking or still sleeping off a bout with their favorite alcohols. Shopkeepers were eating breakfast or slipping in a liquid relaxer before opening their stalls and dealing with the day's custom. Three barmaids moved through them all, taking or delivering orders, and cleaning off what they could of the tables and floors. Geralt saw all three women had been crying and were going about their tasks with detached autonomy.

The heavyset innkeeper, Gordo, Geralt remembered, stood behind the bar and was speaking quietly to a soldier. As Geralt crossed the room, Gordo's eyes widened slightly as he took notice. Red faced, he leaned toward the soldier and whispered something. Geralt distinctly heard "witcher" spoken in an unfriendly tone. The witcher strolled up beside the men and crossed his arms casually. "What seems to be the problem this morning, Captain…?" Geralt asked, noting the rank insignia on the uniform.

The captain eyed the witcher, glancing fleetingly at Geralt's weapons. He pursed his lips in distaste briefly before answering, "I am Captain Vothral, and you are?"

"Geralt of Rivia."

Vothral scowled. "A witcher _and_ a Rivian," he spat both names out like a curse. The look on his face said the names left a bad taste in his mouth.

Gordo blurted, "He was seen drinking and carrying on with that murderer until late last..." A glance from Geralt was enough to cause him to pause. ".. night," He finished. The innkeeper closed his mouth and wiped his hands nervously on his food stained apron.

"Indeed?" Vothral became much more interested in Geralt.

"I was with the minstrel Dandelion last night," Geralt admitted. "As to whether he is a murderer, remains to be proven."

"He murdered my Elsa!" Gordo practically shrieked. A few of the patron's heads turned their way. "My most precious lady here and that _fiend_ took her away!" He took hold of the corner of his apron and mopped at his eyes.

"Calm down, Gordo," Vothral said sternly. "I'll get to the bottom of this." He turned back to Geralt. "Just where did _you_ spend last night, _witcher_?" he demanded.

"In the company of one of the working ladies here," Geralt replied smoothly.

"I see. I suppose she will vouch for your whereabouts then?" Vothral didn't sound entirely convinced.

"I don't see why not," was the calm reply.

The captain sized Geralt up with his eyes before turning back to the innkeeper. "Now, Gordo," He said. "I promise you we will try this murderer and if found guilty, he will hang." The witcher cleared his throat intentionally. Vothral stopped, "Yes, _witcher_?" he asked as he turned back to him. "You have something to add?"

"I don't believe Dandelion was the killer," Geralt stated plainly.

Vothral looked questionably at him, "What makes you so certain? He was found lying next to the dead girl, her with several stab wounds. The dagger itself, still buried hilt deep in her chest." The captain's eyes narrowed. "There was blood all over both of them and him without a scratch anywhere. The only way it could be more damning were if he had been found in the act of killing her."

Geralt thought for a second. "Are you sure that no one else had been in the room?"

"Now why would you think that?" Vothral scoffed. "Do you think perhaps some monster crept into their room last night as they lay sleeping?" Behind him, Gordo let out a small squeak at mention of a monster in his inn. "Killing her with the dagger and leaving him entirely alone?" the captain continued, chuckling. "I highly doubt it, witcher."

"Be that as it may," Geralt replied. "You cannot deny the possibility exists. I would like to see the room, if I may."

"I suppose," Vothral shrugged. "Though I don't see what good it will do your friend."

"We shall see," he said quietly.

"Okay," the captain sighed and shrugged again, "You're not going to find any monsters. Besides your friend, that is. Follow me." He motioned to the innkeeper, "Come along, Gordo. We need your key."

--==++#++==--

Leaving the common room from the back, Geralt was lead down a dank, dark hallway that smelled of mold and mildew. This, obviously, did not lead to guest rooms. Geralt knew they must be headed to Elsa's room. "How long has Elsa been working for you?" he asked the innkeeper.

"For three and," Gordo started to cry again and blew his nose into his apron. After a second he was able to continue. "Three and a half years. Ever since she was fourteen, she has lived here and worked for me. She was such an adorable little girl." He broke down into quiet sobs again as they continued down the hall.

Reaching the door, the innkeeper pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. He mumbled something about not being able to look in there again, and pushed past Geralt, heading back.

Vothral opened the door and walked into the room. Moving to the left a bit, he waved for Geralt to follow.

The witcher took one step into the room where the smell of blood and death were so thick it could be tasted in the air. The scene was dimly lit by one small, west facing window with white curtains. Vothral went to the bedside table and lit the one small lamp to give them more light to see by. Geralt didn't need it but he kept quiet.

The bed was in complete disarray. The sheets, torn and bloodied, covered the one figure on the bed with a dagger protruding from the chest. The blood soaked through everything and deep into the mattress. Even the walls were spattered with blood, a testament to the violence and rage of the murderer.

Geralt pulled back the sheet to expose Elsa. She was quite beautiful with long blonde hair and the smooth skin of the young. She lay there nude and could be mistaken for sleeping peacefully were it not for the dagger and the many large gashes and punctures all over her torso. Looking around the room, the witcher saw nothing out of the ordinary except the bed.

"See, witcher?" Vothral sneered. "No monsters."

Geralt looked down and spotted a wine bottle peeking out from under the bed. Leaning down to pick it up, he also spied a wineglass. He retrieved both and straightened up.

Vothral watched in interest as the witcher brought each to his nose and inhaled slightly. It was unmistakable to Geralt's keen sense of smell. The wine had had Beggartick blossom in it.


	3. Chapter 2: Who? What? Where?

**A/n:** Geralt, Dandelion and the world of The Witcher belong to Mr. Sapkowski. Only the extras and situation are mine.

I welcome any and all reviews. Criticism makes us better writers.

Read on!

**Chapter 2**

Who? What? Where?

"What exactly is Beggartick blossom?" Captain Vothral asked as they moved down the hall. His voice was higher pitched than most men, almost feminine, and it echoed annoyingly as they heading back to the common room.

"It's a flower, Captain," Geralt replied. "It is used by alchemists to make certain potions."

"What does it do?"

"Usually," he answered as he pushed open the door at the end of the hall, "it causes unconsciousness."

The light from the common room was almost blinding after the dimness of the hall. The customers had thinned a little since they had left it, but there were still some tables with one, two or three seated at them.

Geralt walked toward the bar, where the innkeeper was standing while watching his patrons. Gordo didn't seem particularly interested in any one customer, he watched all equally. Some might find it odd to open the inn after the morning's discovery, but not Geralt. He had seen enough to know money and greed drove men more than their emotions.

"I have some questions, Innkeeper," Geralt told him as he neared.

"So your friend," said Vothral while following behind the witcher, "_drugged_ poor Elsa before slaying her?" he was shaking his head sadly as they stopped next to Gordo. "This is not helping your friend in my eyes, Witcher."

Gordo's red rimmed and swollen eyes, jumped between the witcher and captain. The look of genuine surprise on his face could not have been faked. His mouth opened and closed a couple times before he could spit out, "He _drugged_ her?" The innkeeper threw his head back and wailed, "Oh, the _fiendishness_ of it all!"

A few nearby patrons, looked over at Gordo's outburst, but lowered their heads and went back to their business when they spotted Geralt.

Geralt stood by, his arms crossed, while waiting patiently for the Innkeeper to finish his latest spurt of tears, cries and nose blows. This was all quite amusing to Geralt, though he didn't show it. He knew the overweight innkeeper was putting on a show for everyone. Too bad he was putting it on a bit too thick. '_Perhaps Dandelion could give him some pointers_,' he thought. Even the captain rolled his eyes at the innkeeper's display.

When Gordo finally quieted down, the witcher began his inquiry.

"Tell me from the beginning," Geralt directed, "what you remember of last night."

Gordo looked to the captain as if to ask advice. Vothral nodded once and motioned him to speak.

"It was just a normal evening," Gordo began. "The usual amount of customers with nothing really out of the ordinary, except for you, sir," he tilted his head to Geralt. "We don't have witchers here usually."

"Of course you don't," Geralt agreed. "Please continue."

The innkeeper swallowed and tried not to look nervous but failed miserably. "Yes, nothing out of the ordinary really," he went on. "Later, I saw you head upstairs with Katrina. That's when your friend started hanging around Elsa. He was very drunk, staggering around following her. He kept reciting poetry and remarking about her beauty." Tears welled up again in Gordo's eyes. "She was very beautiful, you know."

"Yes."

"Well," he continued as he used his apron again, "Elsa seemed quite taken with him, giggling at his poems and compliments. I had to keep on her about ignoring the customers, they were getting irritable. He even promised to write a song about her." He smiled, "Elsa would have liked that."

"So then what happened," Vothral prodded.

"After a bit, he came up to me and asked me to let her have the rest of the night off. I told him I couldn't afford that because there were only the three girls working. So he offered to pay me to let her go." Gordo looked shocked when remembering that.

"So what did you tell him?" the captain asked, obviously not believing Dandelion's audacity.

"I accepted twenty gold for her night off." The innkeeper shrugged, "It's more than I pay her in a week."

The captain sighed and shook his head. "So then what?" he asked.

"I don't really know," the innkeeper admitted. "It was late and I was tired after a long day, so I left the customers to my girls and went to bed."

"Which were the other two girls?" Geralt asked.

"Jenna there," he pointed to a red haired girl cleaning a table in the far corner, " and Myra, over there," again he pointed. This time it was to a taller, dark haired girl holding a broom by the entry.

Apparently, Myra had forgotten what brooms were for because she was just standing there looking lost.

"Myra!" Gordo bellowed and she jumped. "The floor will not sweep itself, you know! Get to it, girl!" She started sweeping hurriedly.

"Well," Vothral said satisfied, "There you are, Witcher, your friend was definitely in the mood for something. Perhaps he didn't take 'No.' for an answer."

"That is hardly motive for murder, Captain," Geralt pointed out. "Plus it didn't sound to me like Elsa was about to refuse an offer from him." Geralt turned and started walking away. "I am going to ask the barmaids some questions as well."

"Witcher!" Vothral called after him. "This is _my_ investigation."

Geralt ignored him completely and kept walking.

Vothral sighed heavily and followed. He was not about to let this witcher question _his_ witnesses without him being there.

Jenna finished her table and had just turned around when she was startled by Geralt right behind her. "Sir?" she asked, recovering quickly. "Somethin' I can get you? Drink or a meal p'haps?"

"No," Geralt answered. "Nothing, thank you." He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and turned her back around to the table. "Sit, please," he said. "I just want to ask you about last night."

Jenna half shrugged and sat. Geralt's leathers creaked audibly as he placed himself opposite her. When Vothral caught up, he remained standing on her side of the table.

Her bloodshot, green eyes looked at Geralt with doubt. "Dunno what I can really help with," she said. "Elsa wouldn't 'urt a fly. I don't understan' why someone would kill 'er." She wiped newly formed tears away with her hand.

"Just tell me what you remember from last night," Geralt coaxed. His deep, husky voice seemed to calm Jenna.

She brushed red hair from in front of her face and nodded.

"Were mostly regular customers 'ere. The only ones I r'member t' stan' out was you an' your frien'. Din't see when it was you left, but after, your frien', 'e was likin' Elsa quite a lot. Followin' 'er and sayin' all that pretty stuff. Tellin' 'er how beautiful she was an' all."

"Gordo said he was reciting poetry to her," Vothral told her.

"Aye," Jenna nodded, "'e was." She sniffed loudly and went on, "Well, tha' went on till late, 'im talkin', 'er gigglin'. Not long after Gordo went ta bed, bout an hour or so, they went back ta 'er room." She shrugged vaguely as she finished.

"Is that all you can remember?" Geralt asked.

"Well, I do r'member 'im callin' t' Myra on the way ta 'er room," she added, "for a bottle a wine t' be brung to 'em there."

"And that's all?"

"Aye, sir. I din't see anythin' of either of 'em rest of the night."

"Did you take the wine to them?" Vothral asked.

"No, sir," she replied looking up at him. "I s'pose Myra did but I din't see."

"What about in the morning?" Geralt pressed.

"After Gordo was up," she relayed, "'e wanted 'er back t' work, what with the mornin' customers due in an' all. So 'e went back ta 'er room t' wake 'er. I could 'ere 'im poundin' on 'er door and yellin' for 'er t' get up an' get ta work. Then 'e started screamin' afraid like. Me an' Myra ran back t' see what 'appened an'…," she choked up and tears began to flow down her cheeks, falling to the table.

"That's when you found Elsa," Geralt finished for her.

Jenna nodded, trying to hold back the sobs and wipe her face on her sleeve.

"Okay, Jenna," the captain said, patting her shoulder. "You can go now."

Jenna got up and, walking quickly, took her tray full of dishes to the back.

Geralt stood and walked directly over to Myra who was now sweeping dirt out the door. She was a plain looking girl but taller than Jenna, the top of her head almost to the witcher's chin. Her big dark eyes widened considerably as he approached. Once he reached her, Geralt opened his mouth to ask the girl what she knew.

Before he could get a word out, her face screwed up, she let out a wail and ran from the inn sobbing uncontrollably.

"I'm thinking she believes you killed her friend, Witcher," Vothral chuckled from behind Geralt.

Geralt crossed his arms in thought as he stared after the girl running down the street crying. He would have to talk with her, but not now.

"What did you do to her, Witcher?!" Gordo hollered from the bar. "What am I to do now? I have only one girl here!"

"I suggest," Geralt answered coolly, "you had better get to waiting tables before your customers begin to get 'irritable'."

As the innkeeper huffed about being made to do such menial tasks, Geralt looked at Captain Vothral. "Where was Dandelion when you got here?" he asked.

"The bastard was still sleeping off his drunk next to her," Vothral spat out.

Geralt stood thinking for only a moment before he said, "I want to speak to Dandelion now."

Vothral frowned at Geralt's demand. "I won't allow any funny stuff, _witcher_," he warned. "If you even _attempt_ to bust him out, I'll have the entire town garrison after you in a matter of moments."

Geralt smiled. "I wouldn't even dream of it, Captain."

Vothral stared at Geralt for a second, trying to keep his eyes off the witcher's swords. "Very well," he said but did not sound convinced. "Gordo!" he called, looking back to the bar. "I expect to see you in my office later today!"

"But, but, but," the innkeeper sputtered. Vothral didn't wait to hear any more, he turned to walk out the door and spotted Geralt several yards ahead of him walking towards the center of town, his white hair swaying back and forth with his gait. That walk said '_I own the world and no one can tell me different._'

"I hate witchers," Vothral muttered under his breath as he ran to catch up.

--==++#++==--

Dandelion leaned his head against the bars of his cell, letting the cool metal soothe his aching head. The dried blood was starting to itch and he wished he could bathe. He was unsure what exactly had happened but somehow he had been accused of killing the pretty little blonde he had been with last night. He could only assume the blood all over the front of him was hers. He didn't seem to have any wounds on him, not counting his pride. Killing was not in his nature. He was a minstrel not an assassin or even a soldier! To be accused of killing a beautiful young blonde? They had not even let him get dressed properly before hauling him off to jail! Outrageous! He imagined all the women he would have to console once he was released. '_No, my Dear, I was not hurt._' '_No, Sweetheart, I was never at any time afraid for my life._' He prayed Geralt was looking into this.

The door at the top of the stairs opened and his savior appeared.

"Geralt," Dandelion smiled. "Thank the Gods. Have you come to get me out?"

"Not yet," he replied, strolling down the stairs to come to a stop at the bars in front of Dandelion.

"Five minutes, _Witcher_," Vothral called from upstairs. The slamming door echoed loudly about the bare cells.

"What?" Dandelion looked distraught. His voice had that childish whine that could be irritating if let go on too long. "Why not? You know I didn't do anything wrong."

"Relax, my friend," Geralt soothed. "I'll get to the bottom of this and get you out of here as soon as I can. First, I must know what you remember about last night."

"I can't remember a damned thing about last night!" Dandelion practically shrieked. He grasped his head with both hands in obvious pain. "Ugh," he groaned. "Now get me out of here," he whispered this time.

"Dandelion," Geralt said evenly, "I can't help you if you won't help me."

Dandelion let go of his head and pressed his forehead to the bars again, his eyes still closed. "Okay," he sighed. "What do you want to know?"

Geralt repeated slowly, "What do you remember about last night?"

"I remember meeting you for drinks," he started. "I remember getting very drunk. You went upstairs with that pretty brunette and I went after the blonde I had my eye on all night." Dandelion opened his eyes and looked at Geralt. "What happened to her?"

"I'll tell you when you finish," Geralt replied. He looked directly into Dandelion's eyes noting a glassy sheen in them. More than what would be caused by alcohol. "What else do you remember?"

Dandelion sighed and scratched at his chest absently. "I was walking with her around the inn, reciting poems and complimenting her. You know, all the things women love. I think I even offered to write her a song," he grinned. Women found that grin irresistible, but now it looked almost evil with his tousled appearance and all the blood on his front.

"Yes you did."

The minstrel chuckled, "I would have too. She was very fetching."

"I know she was," Geralt agreed. "Please, Dandelion, what else?"

"Well," he continued, "I asked her to spend the night with me and she said she couldn't because she had to work. I told her I would take care of that and I went and paid the innkeeper her wages for the night."

Geralt smiled slightly at that.

"What's with the grin?"

"Nothing, please go on."

"We spent some time at a table then went back to her room," Dandelion said eyeing Geralt for more reactions. "I ordered a bottle of their finest on the way past the bar too. When we got to her room," he paused, raising his eyebrows. "Do you really want details?"

Geralt rolled his eyes. "That part isn't necessary. Do you remember getting your wine?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I poured us each a glass and," he stopped. His brow furrowed and he rubbed his temples as he concentrated for a second. "I guess that wine was the topper. I can't remember a thing after that. Except being woken by soldiers and drug outside to be manhandled onto a horse and brought here." The bruised pride was very evident in his tone.

"Can you remember who it was that brought you the wine?"

Dandelion thought for a minute. "Yes," he said finally. "It was the dark haired barmaid. The plain looking one."

"All right, Dandelion," Geralt said as he turned. "Wait here and I'll be back." He started up the stairs.

"Wait, Geralt!" Dandelion pleaded to Geralt's back. "You said you would tell me what happened to her."

The witcher stopped halfway up the steps. "She was stabbed several times," he said quietly, "and the dagger used, was left in her chest." Turning to face his friend, he told him, "You were found in the morning by the innkeeper." He paused then added, "Sleeping next to her."

Dandelion's mouth fell open and he stepped back to trip on the pile of straw meant to be his bed during his stay. He sat down hard, his mouth still open, staring at Geralt.

Geralt turned around and resumed his climb.


End file.
